


vega, altair, deneb

by unhappyrefrain



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Multi, Polyamory, Surreal, WKTD AU, rarepair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 04:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10235969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain/pseuds/unhappyrefrain
Summary: They call it the Summer Triangle-- the brightest stars shining in Cygnus, Aquila, and Lyra.(the lyre, the eagle, the swan.)or: because it loved to happen, the watashumika drabble collection.





	1. home

**Author's Note:**

> i just decided to make a separate collection for this ship too HAHA kill me
> 
> @watashumika

Shu's mug is the one with the Eiffel Tower on it. Wataru's mug is the big blue one with a little white porcelain bird on it. And Mika's is pretty ordinary-- black, a little chipped on the bottom, but with his name written on it in one of those 3D glaze pens. (Shu insisted on just a _little_ bit of personalization; Mika deserves much more than a sad-looking plain black mug, but he wouldn't have it.) 

Everyone knows whose mug is whose, and they're all lined up on the marble kitchen counter as Shu painstakingly melts chocolate chips into a saucepan. There's a carton of milk, a bottle of ground cinnamon, a vial of vanilla extract, a big bag of baking chocolate, marshmallows, whipping cream... Everything Shu needs to prepare the perfect hot cocoa for the lights of each of his eyes. And he will not be distracted.

Not even when Wataru sidles up behind him, wrapping long arms around his waist, nuzzling his chin into the crook of Shu's shoulder, gentle warm breath tickling his neck... No, no matter how distracting Wataru is trying to be, this is an Important Project, and Mika is sitting on the couch waiting, peering over the back with those curious eyes, so he's not allowed to lose focus. He is _not_.

"Shuuuu."

Wataru singsongs in his ear, voice breathy and low. Shu's face twitches. He hears a muffled giggle from around the fireplace.

"Oh, Shuuu~"

"What." Shu places the wooden spoon he's been using to stir the milk in the saucepan on the plate next to the stove. It resounds with a gentle clatter. 

"Kiss me?"

"Wataru, as much as I would like to kiss you right now, the hot cocoa will come out badly, which I cannot have, since both you and Kagehira, and I, of course, deserve only the best, and having it burnt would be nothing short of a--"

Wataru kisses him on the neck, interrupting Shu's nervous rambling and making him jolt. Shu can feel the flutter of Wataru's eyelashes on the sensitive skin under his jaw, and it feels like he's burning where Wataru has kissed, and the quiet giggle from the couch area erupts into little jubilant "nfufu" and "nnah~" sounds. " _Wataru!_ "

And then Wataru's hands slip from around his waist as he spins gracefully off to the side, his hair billowing behind him as he laughs along with Mika, his mission very much accomplished. Shu sighs, picking up the spoon and stirring the mixture in the other direction, then adds the vanilla. His free hand drifts up involuntarily to run his fingers over Wataru's kiss, still warm under his skin.

 

After the hot cocoa itself has been prepared, Wataru and Mika rush into the kitchen, Mika excitedly grabbing the marshmallows and whipped cream before Shu can hope to stop him. What results from his enthusiasm is a veritable pile of white, taking up half the mug and causing it to overflow, little chocolatey globs of leftover cream running onto the counter. To Shu's dismay, Mika doesn't even think twice before picking up the precariously overfull mug and getting a huge smear of whipped cream all over his black shirt when he attempts to skip back to the couch.

"Mika!" Shu snaps, forgetting his dignity, his self imposed distance. No need for that anymore, not when Mika is making apologetic little "nnah" noises and crouching down to wipe some of it off the wooden floor, looking up at Shu like a cat caught dragging a mouse into the living room... No, he needs to pick up this precious, clumsy alley cat of his and clean up after him, since apparently Mika is just spreading the stuff around in an attempt to wipe it up. "Here, take the paper towels and blot it like this," he demonstrates, gently guiding Mika's hand that smells quite like whipped cream.

"Got it," Mika sighs. "Sorry, Oshi-s-- Shu," he corrects with a shy smile. "Guess I got kinda carried away, huh..."

Shu decides not to bring up the fact that Mika had just called him by his first name-- _that's fine,_ he thinks, _it sounds right_ \-- and instead runs a hand through Mika's mess of black hair. "I can't blame you," he laughs. "My hot cocoa is worth getting excited over, isn't it?"

"Precisely so!" Wataru slides in on his socks, the hot cocoa in his mug sloshing a bit onto his hand as he throws his arms open dramatically. "Your Hibiki Wataru quite enj--"

Shu reaches out to pull Wataru in by the collar and kisses him. Wataru makes a noise that he would later deny was a stunned squeak, and Shu pulls back before Wataru can process what happened.

Then he turns, takes Mika's chin in his fingers, and kisses him too. Mika sighs contentedly into his lips.

"Go sit," Shu says when he's done, picks his mug up off the counter, "and drink your hot cocoa already."


	2. union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels like growing.
> 
> (wktd true ending au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by virtue of we know the devil: surreal body horror, religious themes and SOFT WARM POLYAMORY. also using the multiple first-person pov the game is mostly written in so it gets weird.
> 
> PLAY IT PLEASE: https://datenighto.com/game/we-know-the-devil

It feels like growing. Regrowing limbs where we twine into each other, swelling like the burls of trees that grow too close and fuse their trunks, and we are growing. Splitting the bodies like the shell of a seed, cracking us open-- Shu sheds his with so much relief, sighing as he breaks through the surface, bloodless and breathless, finally formless and perfect. He has been waiting so long. And so many hands-- endless to hold us, stroking softly through Mika's hair that has grown long and heavy with leftover ink and ichor. Another reaches to run fingertips over once-emaciated ribs; Mika melts away, reforms into softness and warmth, body pulsing like a heart under Shu's touch.

Wataru has wings to wrap us in. He is where the light is, that has been masked for so long-- bright blinding and yet so deep yellow, like the late afternoon sun casting a temporary glow over its Earth, though this time it is forever. Shu has kept his eyes, to see us the way he always has; Mika has left them rolling away, and now he sees through prisms, the crystal formations of topaz and sapphire, everything reflected in the glimmer of his jewels, the ones he has accepted as his own. He feels Wataru's light like a blanket. These are the silky feathers for warmth, and these are the sleek stiff ones for flying, this is where his spine was, there are so many pairs of wings, and Wataru's form is long and curls around us like the tail of a dragon, yet so soft-- clay made of glowing light. Shu has a hand to reach for Wataru's shining face, to catch some of that light and brush it over his own, and we watch the way his form wavers and mists and then dissipates like fog just over the road surface, reforms into tangible spirit with the press of Mika's lips to where his cheek had been. He collects himself enough to be touched, to have anything but hands to touch with, because that is what he has understood. We twine over him, melt into him. We keep our touch within his skin, a part of him.

Mika's ink has finally seeped through the floorboards and Wataru has shined onto it, making it into that clay with which Mika rebuilds himself, adds as much as he needs to. Mika has one wing, the only part of him save his hair that remains dark as the rest of the pitch drains away. He does not need much more-- he has never wanted to fly. It beats there like a heart against the column of Wataru's neck. Shu has hands to touch all of him, to feel the softness of his body and the flexible, hollow bones, and lets himself indulge in the downy black feathers where Mika's wings meet the porcelain-finish skin. Mika breathes long shivering lovely breaths. Shu's fingers have always made him feel like this. Except this time he is truly melting.

But we catch him. We scoop up ink from under his thigh and Shu brings it to Wataru who blows on it and cools it to glowing light and then lets it shower over all three of us, draining off the surface of our skin and reincorporating itself into Mika, clean and pure and where it belongs.

What they don't know about Hell is that it is a place of union, a place of transfiguration. God wants us to stay in the bodies he gave us, modeling an entire world from his own conceit. There are limits on what you can do, how you are supposed to use this body. Else you'll never get to Heaven. He loves us only because we resemble him enough for him to love us-- the moment we do not, we are no longer his children. We are orphaned, and wandering, and left with reminders of our absent father in every breath.

But the Devil does not care how we look or how we use our bodies. The Devil has his arms open, and he has waited for us to realize that every angel has been telling lies. The only fire here is the warmth, the gentle glow of melting into one another.

God will not find us. He does not care about those in Hell. No one can force us back into the shed skins we have left behind.

One of Shu's hands reaches out into nowhere and retrieves an apple. Wataru peers at it questioningly. Mika leans up and brushes it to his forehead. There is something vibrating inside it. Something expanding rapidly, like an explosion, or a universe.

We ease up into a ring of one like the rim of a volcano. Shu grows hands through our chests so we can hold it. Pressing our foreheads together, sensing the pull, mouth watering just lookingfeelingsmelling the glossy surface of it.

And we bite in. And we eat until it is gone. And we swallow the seeds of a new world, one for each of us, germinating where it is warm inside us, where it will sprout from us, someday, soon.

And we eat until our lips touch. Until they join. Until we no longer want to pull apart.


End file.
